St. John's day was past. Henry's mother had for a long time delayed
making a journey to Augsburg, her paternal home, to present her son to
his grandfather, who had never yet seen him. Some merchants, trusty
friends of the elder Ofterdingen, were just about travelling to
Augsburg on business. Henry's mother resolved to improve this good
opportunity of fulfilling her wishes; and this more especially, because
she had observed that Henry had lately been more silent, and more taken
up with his own gloomy fancies than usual. She saw that he was out of
spirits, or sick; and thought that a long journey, the sight of strange
people and places, and, as she secretly anticipated, the charms of some
young country girl would drive off the gloomy mood of her son, and make
him as affable and cheerful as was his wont. Her husband agreed with
her in her plans, and Henry was delighted beyond all bounds with the
idea of visiting a country, which, for a long time, he had looked upon
(owing to the many things he had heard concerning it, from his mother
and from travellers) as an earthly Paradise, and in which he had often
wished himself.
Henry was just twenty years old. He had never passed the environs of
his native city; the world was known to him only by report; only a few
books had come within his reach. The course of life at the Landgrave
was simple and quiet, according to the customs of the times; and the
splendor and comfort of princely life, in those days, could but poorly
compare with the conveniences, which, in our times, a private man can
obtain for himself and family, without extravagance. Yet by reason of
their very scarcity, a regard, almost approaching tenderness, was felt,
in those times, for household furniture, and the conveniences of life.
They were considered more valuable and curious. The secrets of nature,
and the origin of its bodies, hardly attracted the notice of thinking
minds, more than these scarce specimens of art and workmanship. This
regard, too, for these silent companions of life was much heightened,
by the distance from which they were brought, and by that charm of
antiquity which gathered around furniture, often the property of
successive generations; an heir-loom from father to son. They were
often raised to the rank of pledges of a peculiar blessing and destiny;
and the weal of whole kingdoms and far-scattered families depended upon
their preservation. A poverty, fair in its features, adorned that age
with a simplicity, full of significance and innocence. The treasures,
so sparingly scattered in that dawn, shone the more brightly, and gave
rise to many significant ideas in the thoughtful mind. If it is true
that a proper division of light, color, and shade reveals the hidden
splendor of the visible world, and opens for itself a new eye of a
higher character; such a division and splendor were to be seen then;
while these newer and more prosperous times represent the monotonous
and insignificant picture of a common day. In all transitions, as in an
interregnum, it appears as if a higher spiritual power were revealing
itself; and as, upon the surface of our earth, the countries, richest
both in subterraneous and super-terraneous treasures, lie between
wild, inhospitable, hoary rocks, and immense plains; so also a
deep-reflecting, romantic period made its appearance between the rough
ages of barbarism, and the cultivated, enlightened, and wealthy age,
which under a coarse garb conceals a still more beautiful form. Who
does not love to wander at twilight, when the light of day and the deep
shades of night mingle together in deep coloring? On this principle, we
are glad to carry ourselves, in imagination, back to the years when
Henry lived, who now went to meet the new circumstances, which might
encompass him, with a swelling heart. He took leave of his companions
and his instructer, the old and wise preacher, who knew the fertility
of Henry's genius, and who bade him farewell, with a feeling heart and
a silent prayer. The countess was his grandmother. He had often visited
her at Wartburg. He now separated from his protectress, who gave him
good counsel, and a golden chain, and who took leave of him with
expressions of friendship. It was with a sad heart that Henry left his
father and his birthplace. He now experienced for the first time what
separation was. His imaginings as to the journey had not been
accompanied with that peculiar feeling, which now filled his breast,
when, for the first time, the scenes of his youth were snatched from
his view, and he was cast, as it were, upon a foreign shore. Great
indeed is our youthful sorrow at this first experience of the
instability of earthly things, an experience necessary and
indispensable to the inexperienced mind, firmly connected with and
certain as our own existence. Our first separation remains, like the
first announcement of death, never to be forgotten, and becomes, after
it has long terrified us like a nightly vision, when at last joy at the
appearance of a new day decreases, and the longing after a fixed, safer
world increases, a friendly guide and a consoling and familiar idea. It
comforted the young man much, that his mother was with him. The world
he was leaving did not yet appear entirely lost, and he embraced her
with redoubled fondness. It was early in the day, when the travellers
rode from the gates of Eisenach, and the fresh daybreak was favorable
to Henry's excited mood. The clearer the day grew, the more remarkable
seemed to him the new and unknown scenes which surrounded him; and when
upon a hill, just as the landscape behind him was illuminated by the
rays of the rising sun, there occurred to him in the gloomy change of
his thoughts some of the old melodies he knew by heart. He found
himself in the swell of the distance, towards which he had often gazed
from the neighboring mountains, where he had often wished himself in
vain, and which he had painted to himself with peculiar colors. He was
on the point of dipping himself in its blue flood. The wonderful flower
stood before him, and he looked towards Thuringia, which he now left
behind him, with the strong idea, that he was returning to his
fatherland, after long wanderings from the country, towards which they
now were travelling, and as if in reality he was journeying homewards.
The company, which at first had been silent from similar causes, began
by degrees to wake up, and to shorten the time by various conversation
and stories. Henry's mother felt it her duty to rouse him from the
dreamings, in which she saw him sunken; and began to tell him of her
father's land, of her father's house, and of the pleasant life in
Swabia. The merchants joined in, and confirmed what his mother said.
They praised the hospitality of the old man Swaning, and could not
sufficiently extol the beauteous fair ones of the country of their
travelling companion.
"You do well," said they, "in taking your son thither. The customs of
your native country are of the most refined and pleasing character.
They know how to attend to what is useful, without despising the
agreeable. Every one endeavors to satisfy his wants in a social and
charming way. The merchant is well treated and respected. The arts and
mechanics are increased and ennobled; work appears easier to the
industrious man, because it helps him to many pleasures, and because,
as a reward for steady industry, he is sure to enjoy the manifold
fruits of various and profitable employments. Money, industry, and
goods reciprocally produce each other, and float along in busy circles.
The country, as well as the cities, flourishes. The more industriously
the day is employed, the more exclusively is the evening devoted to the
charming pleasures drawn from the fine arts, and to social intercourse.
The mind seeks recreation and change; and where could it find it more
proper or more attractive, than in those unchecked diversions, and in
those productions of its noblest power, the power of embodying its
conceptions into realities. Nowhere can you have such sweet singers, or
find such excellent painters, or see in the dancing halls more graceful
movements or lovelier forms. The neighborhood of Switzerland is
distinguished for the ease of its manners and conversation. Your race
adorns society; and without fear of being talked about, can excite by
their charming behavior a lively emulation to chain the attention. The
stern fortitude and the wild jovialty of the men make room for a mild
vivacity and a tender and modest joy, and love in a thousand forms
becomes the leading spirit of their happy companies. Far is it from the
truth, that dissoluteness or unseemly principles are by this course of
conduct developed. It seems as if the evil spirit shunned the approach
of innocent or graceful amusements, and certainly there are in no part
of Germany more irreproachable maidens, or more faithful wives, than in
Swabia.
"Yes, my young friend, in the clear, warm air of southern Germany you
will soon lay aside your bashfulness; the youthful maidens will soon
render you easy and talkative. Your name alone, as a stranger and as a
relative of the old Swaning, who is the delight of every pleasant
company, will attract the pleasant gaze of the maidens towards you; and
if you follow the will of your grandfather, you will certainly bring to
our native city, as did your father, an ornament in the form of a
lovely woman."
Henry's mother thanked them with a modest blush, for their
distinguished praise bestowed on her fatherland, and for their good
opinion of her countrywomen. Henry, full of thought, could not help
listening attentively and with heart-felt pleasure to the description
of the land, which he saw before him.
"Although you do not take up your father's trade," continued the
merchants, "but rather, as we have been told, spend your time in the
pursuit of knowledge, yet you need not become one of the clergy, or
renounce the pleasantest enjoyments of this life. It is bad enough that
all learning is in the hands of an order, so separated from worldly
life, and that the rulers are counselled by such unsociable and really
inexperienced men. In solitude, where they have no share in worldly
affairs, their thoughts must take a useless turn, and cannot be applied
to everyday concerns. In Swabia you can find both wise and experienced
men among the laity, and you need only choose what branch of human
knowledge you prefer; for you cannot want there good teachers and
advisers."
After a while Henry, whose thoughts had been led by this conversation
to the old court-preacher, said; "Although ignorant as I am of the real
condition of the world, I do not exactly rebel against your opinion, as
to the ability of the clergy to guide and judge of worldly affairs;
yet I hope I may be permitted to put you in mind of our excellent
court-preacher, who certainly is a pattern of a wise man, and whose
instructions and counsels I can never forget."
"We revere with our whole hearts," replied the merchants, "that
excellent man; but we can agree with your opinion, only so far as you
speak of that wisdom, which concerns a life well pleasing to God. If
you consider him as wise in worldly affairs, as he is experienced and
learned in spiritual concerns, permit us to disagree with you. Yet we
do not believe that the holy man deserves any less praise, because by
the depth of his knowledge of the spiritual world, he is unable to gain
insight into and an understanding of earthly things."
"But," said Henry, "is it not possible that that higher knowledge would
fit you to guide impartially the reins of human affairs? May it not be
possible that childlike and natural simplicity more safely travels the
road through the labyrinth of human affairs, than that wild, wandering,
and partially restrained wisdom, which considers its own interest, and
which is blinded by the unspeakable variety and perplexity of present
occurrences? I do not know, but it seems to me, that there are two
ways, by which to arrive at a knowledge of the history of man; the one
laborious and boundless, the way of experience; the other apparently
but one leap, the way of internal reflection. The wanderer of the first
must find out one thing from another by wearisome reckoning; the
wanderer of the second perceives the nature of everything and
occurrence directly by their very essence, views all things in their
continually varying connexions, and can easily compare one with
another, like figures on a slate. You will pardon me, that I address
you, as it were, from my childish dreams; nothing could have emboldened
me to speak but my confidence in your kindness, and the remembrance of
my teacher, who for a long time has pointed the second way out to me as
his own."
"We willingly grant you," said the kind merchants, "that we are not
able to follow your train of thought; yet it pleases us that you so
warmly remember your excellent teacher, and treasure up so well his
lessons. It seems to us that you have a talent for poetry, you speak
your fancies out so fluently, and you are so full of choice expressions
and apt comparisons. You are also inclined to the wonderful,--the
poet's element."
"I do not know whence it comes," said Henry; "I have heard poets spoken
of before now; but have never yet seen one. I cannot even form an idea
of their curious art; but yet have a great desire to hear about it. I
feel that I wish to know many things, of which dark hints only are in
my mind. I have often heard people speak of poems, but I have never yet
seen one, and my teacher never had occasion to learn the art. Nor have
I been able to comprehend everything that he has told me concerning it.
Yet he always considered it a noble art, to which I would devote myself
entirely, if I should become acquainted with it. In old times it was
much more common than now, and every one had some knowledge of it,
though in different degrees; moreover it was the sister of other arts
now lost. He thought that divine favor had highly honored the
minstrels, so that inspired by spiritual intercourse, they had been
able to proclaim heavenly wisdom upon earth in entrancing tones."
The merchants then said; "We have in truth not troubled ourselves much
with the secrets of the poets, though we have often listened with
pleasure to their songs. Perhaps it is true that no man is a poet,
unless he is born under a particular star, for there is something
curious in this respect about this art. The other arts are very
different from it, and much easier to comprehend. The secrets of
painters and musicians can much more easily be imagined; and both can
be learned with industry and patience. The sound lies already in the
strings, and ability is all that is wanting, in order to move them, and
stir up each into a delightful harmony. In painting, nature is the best
instructress. She brings forth numberless beautiful and wonderful
forms, gives to them color, light, and shade; and a practised hand, an
exact eye, and a knowledge of the preparation and mixing of colors can
imitate nature to the life. How natural for us then to comprehend the
effect of these arts, and the pleasure derived from their productions.
The song of the nightingale, the whistling of the wind, and the
splendors of light, color, and form please us, because they strike our
senses agreeably; and as our senses are fitted for this by nature,
which also has the same effect, so must the artful imitation of nature
please us also. Nature herself will also draw enjoyment from the power
of art, and thence has she changed into man, and thus she now rejoices
herself over her noble splendors, separates what is agreeable and
lovely, and brings it forth by itself in such a way, that she can
possess and enjoy it in all ways and at all times and places. In the
art of poetry, on the contrary, there is nothing tangible to be met
with. It creates nothing with tools and hands. The eye and the ear
perceive it not; for the mere hearing of the words has no real
influence in this secret art. It is all internal; and as other artists
fill the external senses with agreeable emotions, so in like manner the
poet fills the internal sanctuary of the mind with new, wonderful, and
pleasing thoughts. He knows how to awaken at pleasure the secret powers
within us, and by words gives us force to see into an unknown and
glorious world. Ancient and future times, innumerable men, strange
countries, and the most singular events rise up within us, as from deep
hiding places, and tear us away from the known present. We hear strange
words and know not their import. The language of the poet stirs, up a
magic power; even ordinary words flow forth in charming melody, and
intoxicate the fast-bound listener."
"You change every curiosity into ardent impatience," said Henry. "I
cannot hear enough of these strange men. It seems to me all at once, as
if I had heard them spoken of somewhere in my earliest youth; but I can
remember nothing more about it. But what you have said to me is very
clear and easy to comprehend, and you give me great pleasure by your
beautiful descriptions."
"It is with pleasure," continued the merchants, "that we have looked
back upon the many pleasant hours we have spent in Italy, France, and
Swabia in the society of minstrels, and we are glad that you take so
lively an interest in our discourse about them. In travelling through
so many mountains, there is a double delight in conversation, and the
time passes pleasantly away. Perhaps you would be pleased to hear some
of the pretty tales concerning poets, that we have learned in our
travels. Of the poems themselves, which we have heard, we can say but
little, both because the pleasure and charm of the moment prevent the
memory from retaining much; and because our constant occupations in
business destroy many such recollections.
"In olden times, all nature must have been more animate and spiritual
than now. Operations, which now animals scarcely seem to notice, and
which men alone in reality feel and enjoy, then put animate bodies into
motion; and it was thus possible for men of art to perform wonders and
produce appearances, which now seem wholly incredible and fabulous.
Thus it is said that there were poets in very ancient times, in the
regions of the present Greek empire, (as travellers, who have
discovered these things by traditions among the common people there,
have informed us,) who by the wonderful music of their instruments
stirred up a secret life in the woods, those spirits hidden in their
trunks; who gave life to the dead seeds of plants in waste and desert
regions, and called blooming gardens into existence; who tamed savage
beasts, and accustomed wild men to order and civilization; who brought
forth the tender affections, and the arts of peace, changed raging
floods into mild waters, and even tore away the rocks in dancing
movements. They are said to have been at the same time soothsayers and
priests, legislators and physicians, whilst even the spirits above were
drawn down by their bewitching song, and revealed to them the mysteries
of futurity, the balance and natural arrangement of all things, the
inner virtues and healing powers of numbers, of plants, and of all
creatures. Then first appeared the varied melody, the peculiar harmony
and order, which breathe through all nature; while before all was in
confusion, wild and hostile. And here one thing is to be noticed; that
although these beautiful traces for the recollection of these men
remain, yet has their art, or their delicate sensibility to the
beauties of nature been lost. Among other occurrences, it once happened
that one of this peculiar class of poets or musicians,--although music
and poetry may be considered as pretty much the same thing, like mouth
and ear, of which the first is only a movable and answering ear,--that
once this poet wished to cross the sea to a foreign land. He had with
him many jewels and costly articles, which he had received as tributes
of gratitude. He found a ship ready to sail, and easily agreed upon a
price for his passage. But the splendor and beauty of his treasures so
excited the avarice of the sailors, that they resolved among themselves
to take him, throw him overboard, and afterwards to divide his goods
with each other. Accordingly, when they were far from land, they fell
upon him, and told him that he must die, because they had resolved to
cast him into the sea. He begged them to spare his life in the most
touching terms, offered them his treasures as a ransom, and prophesied
that great misfortunes would overtake them, should they take his life.
But they were not to be moved, being fearful lest he should sometime
reveal their wickedness. When he saw at last that their resolution was
taken, he prayed them that at least they would suffer him to play his
swan song, after which he would willingly plunge into the sea, with his
poor, wooden instrument, before their eyes. They knew very well that,
should they once hear his magic song, their hearts would be softened
and overwhelmed with repentance; therefore they granted his last
request indeed, but stopped their ears, that not hearing his song, they
might abide by their resolution. Thus it happened. The minstrel began a
beautiful song, pathetic beyond conception. The whole ship accorded,
the waters resounded, the sun and the stars appeared at once in the
sky, and the inhabitants of the deep issued from the green flood about
them, in dancing hosts. The people of the ship stood alone by
themselves, with hostile intent waiting impatiently for the end of his
song. It was soon finished. Then the minstrel plunged with serene brow
down the dark abyss, carrying with him his wonder-working instrument.
Scarcely had he touched the glittering wave, when a monster of the deep
rose up beneath him, and quickly bore the astonished minstrel away. It
swam directly to the shore whither he had been journeying, and landed
him gently among the rushes. The poet sang a song of gratitude to his
saviour, and joyfully went his way. Sometime after the occurrence of
these events, he again visited the seashore, and lamented in sweetest
tones his lost treasures, which had been dear to him as remembrances of
happier hours, and as tokens of love and gratitude. While he was thus
singing, his old friend came swimming joyfully through the waves, and
rolled from his back upon the sand the long-lost treasures. The
boatmen, after the minstrel had leaped into the sea, began immediately
to divide the spoil. During the division a murderous quarrel arose
between them, which cost many of them their lives. The few that
remained were not able to navigate the vessel; it struck the shore and
foundered. They with difficulty saved their lives, and reached the
beach with torn garments and empty hands. Thus by the aid of the
grateful sea-monster, who had gathered them up from the bottom of the
sea, the treasures came into the hands of their original possessor."
[See Note I. at the end.]